SHE FOUND HERSELF ROLLING HER EYES, TUCKING THE LETTER INTO HER BAG AS SHE CONTINUED TO TRUDGE DOWN THE DIRT PATH. Sable never got used to the paper whistling down to her, spelled to find her wherever she may be on the Continent. Eskell really was a talented mage, no matter how annoying he was. However fond Sable was of the man, she was never quite used to the feelings she got while thinking about him. Rage, fondness, surprise all swirled in her chest whenever she got a new letter from him.

After they made up, a year after he had cursed her and they had glared across Court tables at each other, Sable was still surprised that he had wanted to stay in her life. Yes, he had cursed her, but he was also the closest friend she had ever had. Despite the rage she felt whenever she saw the mark on her body, so much so that she had rarely got to indulge in carnal pleasures these past four years, Eskell was more important than that. And now, she could treat him with all the affection that she had before without him thinking it was more than just teasing fondness.

Another decision Sable made, now being immortal and still looking as youthful as she did the day she was cursed, was that she wanted to travel. She could return to the Courts whenever she wanted now, knowing that her beauty was still sung about by Bards and men still gossiped about her. Seeing the Continent was something she hadn't thought she would ever get to do. But, now she had time, and it's not like she would meet a man on the road that would steal her heart. Both Eskell and her know it would take much more than just that to get her to fall in love or meet this twining soul.

With a sigh, Sable looked around, taking in the scenery around her. The sun was setting, dusk making the sky oranges, purples, and dark blues, and she would need to find a place to set up camp soon. Luckily enough, she was sure there was a cave somewhere nearby, if she could tell by any of the huge cliff face she could still see through the trees of the forest she was still in.

It was nice, she had decided, to be able to walk through a forest and smell the dew on the grass and feel the sunshine on her skin while traveling. For the most part, she didn't have to worry about anything killing her. Eskell had explained, when she had visited him before she had decided to trek where she pleased, that unless someone was to kill him, Sable would live through the deadliest attacks. Love was the strongest damner, it seemed, to not have to be worried about dying when cursed with it.

Taking in the space around her, Sable decided it was better to find herself a cozy place to camp sooner than later. Her feet were starting to ache anyway. Though she had been walking for the better part of two and a half years, she wasn't quite used to walking for such a long amount of time. The perks of staying in the beds of nobles, she usually had a carriage or a horse. Gods, and she missed being able to have a bath most days. She was sure she stunk, as she made her way off the path and into the foliage.

Sable made sure to note which way she headed off the path and started counting her paces. She had once spent a day wandering a forest in the dead of winter because she was hoping to follow her footprints back to the main road. It had snowed overnight and she had gotten so lost, somewhere near Sodden and Cintra, she thinks. There was a man in the woods who had helped her. He had been cursed too, she recalled, and still felt guilty when she had screamed upon seeing him in the woods. She wondered how he was, as she tried to find a nice looking spot to lay her bedroll for the night, considering how nice he had been to help her. Especially when most people would have tried to kill him or set a bounty for a witcher to deal with him if they knew he was out there.

There was a cave, Sable spotted, feeling herself glad to have found one as easy as she did. The weather wasn't as cold as she thought it would be, but sometimes the night did get chilly and having the walls of a cave surrounding her instead of using trees as a windbreak sounded like a great idea. She started walking towards it, a little hop in her step, before she was distracted by a nicker.

There, probably fifteen feet away from the cave she was going to stay in, was a brown mare tied to a tree. Sable felt her eyebrows furrow as she moved in closer, cautiously, spotting a campsite. The coals of the once fire were still red hot and could probably be re-lit with a couple well placed blows of air and there was a bag and a sheath on the ground between a bedroll and a log. In the sheath, there seemed to be a sword. She would have investigated more, but there was a shriek from the cave, a loud one, that made the mare jostle where she stood, stamping her feet, and Sable took a step back away from the cave.

She was glad she hadn't approached the mare, she looked restless and mean as she pawed at the ground, another shriek coming from the cave. Sable made the choice that she was going to find another place to camp, as this one already seemed taken. Those shrieks didn't sound like good ones either, so whoever had set up the camp hadn't wanted to use the cave for a little privacy and warmth.

Sable turned to leave, when the shrieking got louder. Curiosity killed the cat, because Sable turned around with morbid fascination to see what it was coming from. Out from the cave mouth flew a pretty angry looking... rooster, but not. It was huge, for one thing, loud, and could actually soar with its huge wings. And it was heading straight for her.

Now, Sable wished she could say she ducked out of the way, had fast enough reflexes to dive under the wings and not get herself winded by a massive monster-rooster beak to the stomach. However, sometimes wishes don't come true. All the air is knocked out of her lungs as the beast flies head first into her. She feels the point of the beak probably stab into her stomach a little, and one of its hands (does it have hands?) and the claws dig into her side as it grabs at her. She's thrown to the side, gasping, hears a crack from her leg, feels pain shoot through her system and tries to swear, but only a wheeze manages to come out.

Sable's still gasping as she sees a man in black armour dart past her, watches him somewhat gracefully dodge out of the way of the wings and claws, swings a sword, manages to hit the creature, making it let out another ear-splitting shriek. She watches as she gets her breath back as he fights the monster, weaving to get out of the way of its attacks, though one manages to hit his forearm and leave a nasty looking gash, cutting through armour.

The man finishes the fight with one final stroke of his sword, a flash of silver in the dying light as it slices through the monster's head and decapitates it. There's a gross sound when the head hits the ground, the beast collapsing, blood spilling from the wounds. Sable gags, turns onto her side despite her injuries and throws up the food she had eaten only a couple hours ago. The sound is what drags the man's attention to her. Or, at least, more attention to her, she thinks she vaguely heard a deep voice yelling at her to get out of there. She was just too distracted by getting tossed like a ragdoll by the creature.

"Are you hurt?" His voice is deep, gruff, and he approaches as he asks. Sable stares at him, takes in the white of his hair and the amber colour of his eyes and blinks at him. He's huge, or seems so, from where she's still lying prone on the ground, all broad shoulders, tree trunk thighs, and thick biceps. She wonders how much armour he has to buy because she's sure it gets worn out from him just wearing it.

He's squatting down to get a better look at her, and Sable can't help but watch his thighs flex. Listen, one of the funner parts of sex that she found was when you had a connection with someone. It's one of the reasons why she swore most of it off since she was cursed, because she didn't want to accidentally have the greatest connection in a one night stand and be trapped to love a person who ended up being an asshole outside of the sheets and chambers.

But, for this man, this... witcher, Sable realized, recognizing the description of the man, she would break the rule. Scratch that, she was going to break that rule, if he was willing. She didn't care if it happened to be the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He was too attractive to not at least try to sleep with him.

He grunts, moving forward, his eyes almost glowing in the setting sun. His gloves moved over her wrecked shirt, the claws of the creature ripping a hole in the side, and it was getting stained by the blood coming from the wound there. There's a moment where his eyes narrow slightly, before he's scooping her up in his arms. Sable yelps, clutches onto him, letting out an indignant, "Warn a girl first, please!"

"You weren't talking," Geralt says, as he moves back towards his campsite. Her bag is still hanging from her back and she distantly wonders if the ink pots she had in it were crushed from her fall and staining her other possessions. She also wonders where she's going to get another shirt. This had been her last one after she had taken a tumble into a ravine, had caught tree branches on the way down, and had gotten more holes in it than there was actual shirt. Perhaps she'd be okay to travel with the bloodstained hole until she could make it to another town to buy a new one, if there was one cheap enough.

"Maybe I was in shock about the fact I just watched you decapitate a monster cock," Sable said matter-of-factly, then she blinked, hearing what she just said. The witcher was already paying attention to her wounds, after he had gently set her down in his campsite, taking off his gloves to look at the gashes the monster had left in her side with warm hands. Sable almost flinched back from them for the reason that she couldn't stand when hands were too hot after being cursed. He was humming quietly, for concentration, Sable thinks, because she wouldn't have noticed if she wasn't paying so close attention to him. She did flinch back from the pain of him prodding at the wound, though. "You just don't waste time, do you?" She harrumphed, "There could be a little more preamble."

He just grunted, getting up and moving to his own pack, digging through it. Sable shot a look at the corpse of the creature that was going to start rotting soon, and she didn't want to be around to smell it. "Does the monster cock have a name?" She thought for a moment, "The creature."

She's pretty sure it might have been a trick of the fading light, but Sable thought she saw the corner of the witcher's lip twitch upwards. That made her feel incredibly smug, if the whole way the witcher held himself was anything to go by. However, when he turned around to return with, what looked to be, medical supplies in his hands, he was as stoic as ever.

"It was a cockatrice," Geralt said, opening the tin of ointment and moving the hole of the shirt so that he could smear it on Sable's wound. She hissed when it touched her skin, having not expected it to burn a little, but knowing it probably had something to do with helping her not get an infection. She couldn't die from the curse, but that didn't mean she had magical healing. Sable was human, after all.

She let him work in silence (or near silence, Geralt was still humming lightly), as he smeared some more of the ointment on her side, and then stomach, even though the wound from the beak probably didn't need it. It was already bruising around the edges of the small indent, and Sable knew they would be darker in the morning. She was also sure the leg she had landed on was going to be just as dark as a bruise.

"I'm Sable, by the way," she introduced herself softly when he was done securing some cloth over her wound. He grunted in response. "I know your name already. It's hard not to, that story from Blaviken has travelled far and wide."

His face got stonier, if that was possible. Sable was itching to ask how it had happened, why had he murdered all those men and the woman in the streets, but his demeanor told her it was a sore subject and she shouldn't pry. She might know Geralt of Rivia's name, but that doesn't mean that she knows him. But staring at him, especially when he removes the part of his armour to slather the ointment over his strong, veiny forearm, she wants to.

The mare neighed, getting both of their attention. Geralt got up, shushing as he stroked her face in soothing motions. Sable watched for a second, before she realized how intimate it looked, and checked on her own wound. It was bleeding through the cloth he had dressed it with, but not a lot. She thinks it will heal fine, and checks on the bruising wound on her stomach, prodding at it with gentle fingers and hissing.

She does the same with her leg and hisses louder.

"Stop messing with them," Geralt's rumbly voice cuts her off, and she looks up at him. His horse looks calm now, thanks to his attentions, and the man is now starting the fire again. She watches him do a hand gesture, sparks flying from his fingertips, and the coals and tinder he had put out are sparking back to life. Sable knows it's not chaos, Eskell has gone on rants Sable has tuned out about fire magic.

"Do you think they'll scar?" she asks, looking back down at her hole-y shirt, frowning a bit. Looking back up, she catches Geralt narrowing his eyes in thought, before shaking his head. "Do you have any extra shirts then, by any chance. I'd rather not walk around with a huge hole in the side of mine."

He looks exasperated, Sable thinks, as he goes back to his horse, digs through the saddlebag, and then tosses her a black piece of fabric. Sable decides, that despite the offstandish way Geralt is presenting himself, that the witcher is kind. Especially considering he had just given her one of his shirts. She catches it, says her thanks, and then looks around. A part of her wants to get up, have some modicum of privacy, but she knows that her bruise is sore and she doesn't want to put any weight on the leg. Especially if it had cracked. Not yet, at least.

So, Sable starts rambling to make herself feel more comfortable. Geralt doesn't tell her to shut up (maybe he's lonely?), so it's easier for her to get comfortable. After a while, he even starts to grunt and hum in response, as if he's actually listening. She starts asking him generic questions, trying to decipher what's an affirmative and what's a negative. She stays away from telling him anything about Eskell in her rambles, and stays well away from asking about the incident of Blaviken.

It's when she asks him about the bounty that drove him to kill the cockatrice that gets him talking. Not very much, but he tells her about the town maybe a half a day's ride from where they are and Sable makes a note of the direction before she's pulling her shirt over her head then putting on the one Geralt gave her. It smells bad, like horse and stale blood and guts, but it's threadbare and soft, surprisingly. And a lot warmer than her other shirt, even when it had been whole.

Geralt had paused in his speech upon her taking off her shirt and she looked at him, meeting those golden eyes, blinking a couple times. They betrayed no emotion whatsoever, and Sable isn't sure if her company is wanted or not, suddenly. But, her eyes catch the gash from his fight, with only the ointment spread across it, and realizes how much of a terrible person she is. He had treated her wounds and let her ramble while he wasn't tending to his own.

Gods, what a dick she was, and not a good one.

So, she gets up, tests how much weight she can put on her leg (she was being a baby, she's fine, just bruised), and makes her way over to where the witcher is sitting. She kneels in front of him, holds her hands out, pointedly looking at the wound.

Geralt grunts, "It's fine."

"It's only fair," she finds herself saying softly, "like I'm repaying a debt."

She watches those golden eyes, wonders if she should become a bard because her head's filled with similes and metaphors and comparisons for the colour. A sunrise, the flash of a golden coin in candlelight, a cool tankard of good ale, a gossamer fabric one of the higher ladies used to wear in Court, all the jewelry she had seen wore by nobles, Sable's pretty sure that Geralt's eyes were better than it all.

"You have nothing to repay," Geralt told her, voice low, and Sable took in his stoic expression again, the sharp contours of his face. This close, she could see he had faint scars, knicks from blades that had barely cut into the skin of his jaw and chin. Sable was sure that all the people who had gotten that close to Geralt with a blade were left bleeding or dead where they had fallen.

"Fine," Sable said, focusing back on his arm. The wound still looked pretty angry. "Take it as payment for the shirt and we'll call each other friends."

"I don't have friends," Geralt grunted and that made Sable laugh. Geralt seemed to startle at that, and Sable's sure his face had gotten softer after hearing it. It hadn't been an attractive laugh, if the snort was anything, followed by a wheeze that disturbed the quiet of the forest and made the mare neigh in response. But, if it softened up the look on the witcher's face, even if it had been only for a second, Sable's happy for it.

"No, I don't suppose you do," she hummed softly, grinning to herself, staring at those damned (gorgeous, breathtaking, kind) amber eyes. She made a point to purposely look at his forearm again, look at the wound, examine it, see what kind of care it would maybe need. Maybe it was to distract herself from Geralt, maybe it was for the sake of what she said. Either way, she needed a break from that intense stare. There's a moment of contemplative silence between them that seems more intimate than before.

Sable lets her eyes flick up to his face, narrows her eyes slightly when his eyes catch her brown ones, and then gently reaches for his hand. He doesn't stop her, lets her gently finish up the quick, shoddy job he did of putting the ointment on, and she digs through the pouch he had when she went to dress it. Sable tries to be as gentle as she can, taking care to not hurt Geralt even the tiniest bit. Something tells her he has scars across the plain of his body and has felt so much pain in his life and she didn't want to add to it.

Geralt's watching her as she ties the dressing around his arm. She finds herself staring into his amber eyes after she's done, watching the fire flicker in the golden colour. Sable can't make herself move as she watches his face, the angular jaw clench and unclench, feels his forearm tense in her hands as he clenches his fist, can't help but watch his lips for a second.

There's tension, she thinks, but she's not sure which one. Sable's usually good at reading people, had to be in Court, had to know which people she could get into bed with and have them loose and willing to share secrets. But Geralt was hard to read. He was trying to be hard to read, Sable realized. It was all purposeful.

With as gentle hands as she had dressed his wound with, Sable reaches up, traces with feather-light fingertips across Geralt's jaw until she cups his cheeks. She's guiding him down, or herself up, and for once in her life, she's asking herself if she's moving too fast. If she's going to regret this. She had talked his ear off with very little reciprocation, but she has been lonely. The only people she came in contact with these days were farmers and villagers and Sable had tried not to be interested in them.

Geralt's arm wraps around her waist, careful of the bandages on her side, and he's pulling her up and against him when their lips meet. Perhaps Geralt is lonely too, then, because there is nothing very gentle about his kiss. He's devouring her, biting at her lips and licking into her mouth and Sable is trying her best to keep up as she clutches onto him.

He takes her, half out of his leather armour, her pants thrown somewhere else, his shirt still on her shoulders, on the forest floor. There's probably dirt in her hair and in her fingernails from where she was grasping for purchase before finding them in his filthy hair and on his scarred shoulder. He's rough, biting, leaving marks, his hips slamming into her so hard it'll probably bruise, and she knows she'll have a handprint shaped bruise on the hip opposite of her cuts from the cockatrice. His other hand had found the nape of her neck and tangled in her hair, making her watch his eyes, not allowed to break eye contact.

It's hot. Oh, Lilit, it's some of the hottest sex she's ever had. She finds she wants everything he'll give her, all the bruises and teeth marks, he's still devouring her, her kiss-bruised lips, and she feels sorry for the horse because she's getting louder, is probably louder than the cockatrice's shrieks and it doesn't help that Geralt is encouraging it. He continues to do those things that are making her moan and it's all building, crescendoing, and when it can't go any higher, Sable falls off the edge, paws and claws her way down, leaving marks on Geralt's skin as well.

He keeps going even after she's come down, holds her by the hip and neck and continues to use her until he's finished, knocking her off that edge two more times before he's done. Probably has something to do with witcher stamina, Sable thinks blearily, curling around the warmth she has in her arms. Geralt grunts with her added weight on top of him, but he adjusts and the two of them are falling asleep like that, with each other, and Sable thinks that Geralt's chest makes a good pillow before she's drifting off.

Sable wakes up to Geralt gently trying to move her off of him. She snorts, yawns, wipes the drool off her chin, and then sits up, apologizing tiredly. Geralt grunts. There's a look of fondness, Sable thinks, which is weird but she's too tired to think deeper into it. The sun has barely risen on the horizon and their tryst in the woods kept them up a lot later than Sable had thought it would, the coals of the fire barely glowing by the time they were done.

She finds her pants when she's awake enough to remember them, limping slightly and lifting up Geralt's shirt to see the handprint bruise like she predicted, as well as many other hickies, bruises, and bite marks. With the shirt kept on, he probably hadn't seen the curse mark, which Sable was glad. She didn't want to have to explain that to him (or lie about it).

She feels the same smug satisfaction she felt at his maybe smile when Sable turns around and spots scratch marks on Geralt's magnificent ass. That is, before he pulls his pants over those beautiful, firm cheeks and deprives her of the sight. A huff escapes her mouth as she limps back over to where her pack had been discarded when Geralt had carried her to camp, both her bruise and the sex contributing to her slow, gated walk.

They mutually decide, without talking really, that they would pack up camp, Geralt tied the cockatrice's head to the saddlebag as proof of his bounty, and they would make their way to town. Geralt was nice enough to hoist Sable, without much warning, onto his horse and let her ride it as he pulled her reins in the direction of town. Sable chattered the whole time, not sure if it was because she was still a little nervous or if it was because she thought Geralt was listening. He didn't make much indication if he was, except the one time Sable was searching for the right word and he offered one to her.

When they arrived at the little town, Geralt helped her off the horse (who Sable realized was named Roach, when she had gotten quiet for five minutes after Geralt had said, "come on, Roach." He said it again a few minutes later with a pat to the mare's neck), and she smiled in thanks once her feet touched the ground. She shouldered her bag, which Geralt had also hung on the opposite side of the head on the back of Roach, and turned to Geralt once again.

"See you around, Geralt," she said, not as a goodbye, but as a hopeful remark. He grunted in response, and Sable hated that, even in the short day she had spent with him, it made fondness spread throughout her limbs.

Then she realized she needed to write Eskell back, so she gave a quick wave and made her way to the first place that looked like an inn so that she could have a solid surface for writing. 

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so, that warning came in pretty early, huh? she has officially met (and slept) with geralt, but she won't like be super involved with him until jaskier comes along to lovingly annoy him lmao.

I hope you enjoyyyyy